


Inescapable

by Ruriska



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Barebacking, Grief Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Shimadacest, Sibling Incest, there's also a dead guy in the same room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8578720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruriska/pseuds/Ruriska
Summary: Hanzo and Genji mourn the death of their father and an uncertain future the only way they know how.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This doesn't have a beta so please excuse the excessive use of commas. I hope you enjoy it! c:

Their father is dead.

They have finally been left alone to mourn in peace, kneeling before his prettied corpse. His face is pale and slack, every harsh line smoothed out, now that he is finally at rest. The fine white kimono he is wearing costs more than most people would make in a year, the golden dragon that coils around the hem made from silk sourced from far abroad. Someone has added rouge to his cheeks but there is no mistaking death.

Surprisingly, it is not Genji that breaks down, now that the guests have left them to their overnight vigil, but Hanzo. The sobs roll through him, ripped forcefully from his chest. Each breath is a struggle, shuddering downwards. He is replaying the wake in his mind, each guest that filled the room with their silence, powerful men and women paying their respects to an even more powerful man. A man that had ruled with an iron fist but had ultimately been taken, not by a bullet or sword but by a sudden unexpected heart attack.

His tears, as they streak down his cheeks, are bitter ones. He can still feel the clutch of a firm hand, the grin that showed off three missing teeth, the gaping holes they left pink and black, as he was told, “your father was a great man, Hanzo-san. Let’s hope you’re half the dragon he was.” If he is or not, he doesn’t know but he feels the weight of it, a burden he did not want so soon, a burden that some deep and dark part of him knows will only bring pain. 

So he cries, not for the loss of his father, a man who was never gentle or kind but for the future that stretches before him. He has been groomed for this since he could first walk but his dread is a coiled beast that claws at him. Hanzo does not feel ready. He wonders if he will ever feel ready. Not when he can feel the eyes of the elders watching his every move, judging his every choice, from what he eats in the morning to how he decides to kill their enemies.

There is nobody for him to lean on. Not even his brother, his brother who sits beside him with dry eyes, his fingers lax where they rest in his lap.

Genji is free of the pressure, he always has been. He is a sparrow, flitting where he wills and singing out his joy. Hanzo is the dragon, held down by chains, bound and restricted. He will never know what it feels like to fly.

“Hanzo...”

The name isn’t even a question, it is simply spoken, uttered in between Hanzo’s sobs. Hanzo responds by leaning forward, curling in on himself, ashamed. 

 

“Hanzo.” Genji says the name again when the first doesn’t reach through his brother’s torment. His fingers curl into the fabric of his black suit-pants, quivering at the ends. The corners of his eyes prick with unshed tears in response to Hanzo’s. He can’t cry for their father but he might cry for his brother, if he does not stop sobbing. Each gasp is a knife in his heart. He never expected this outpouring of emotion. Hanzo’s face had been so cold and calm, meeting their guests with the poise required of the Shimada heir. Impeccable, as always. His brother never shows weakness. 

Genji had watched him throughout the wake, even as he itched to escape. He had wondered what the reaction would be if he simply walked out. Not that he hadn’t loved his father or hadn’t been thankful for his leniency. There had always been a soft spot for Genji, allowing his youngest son to do as he pleased without retribution. Even so, no matter how big the cage, it was still a cage and Genji could feel it constricting him now. 

If not for his brother, he would have run years ago. 

But he can’t run away from his brother, never can and never will. Even if sometimes he wants to. 

Now his brother will take over the clan and will no doubt be far more terrifying than their father ever was in an attempt to live up to his memory.

Genji wishes he loved his brother less.

Hanzo is still crying, wailing softly and Genji feels as though all the air has been sucked from his lungs. He finally allows himself to reach out, to grip his brother’s shoulder, his touch soft and barely there to start with. When that alone silences the wailing, he increases the pressure, running his hand down Hanzo’s back in small, comforting circles.

He breathes.

In and out. 

It doesn’t help.

Hanzo is still crying, he can feel each quiver, but it is quieter now. His brother slowly sits back, turns to face him. He looks wrecked. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, there are blotches of colour on his cheeks and strands of his dark hair have escaped their binding, sticking to his face, one trailing to the corner of his lips.

Genji feels hot and feverish. 

He continues to soothe, his hand moving up and down, an awkward appendage. 

Oh, how he wishes he loved his brother less. 

Hanzo’s tears are salty when he kisses at a reddened cheek. Hanzo’s eyes are heavy-lidded, tears glittering on his eyelashes and a wet sheen making the soft brown all that easier to drown in. His lips are salty too. They open, not eager, simply accepting, offering.

So Genji takes.

He groans into the kiss and Hanzo answers with a gasp when Genji sinks a hand between his thighs. 

 

Hanzo’s grief is a desperate and needy thing. It turns to lust so very easily, flares up bright and hot at the simplest of touches. He doesn’t fight in the slightest when he is pushed down, when Genji’s kisses become rough and insistent.

He wants to be ruined, to wallow in sin. He wants to forget that tomorrow they will bury their father and the chains will tighten around him, indestructible and inescapable. There will be no peace for him then. No rest. It will ruin him, and so he might as well begin tonight. 

Genji struggles with Hanzo’s suit jacket, removes it with jerky movements, unbuckles the belt and pulls it free, tosses it aside. He fumbles with the pant buttons but can’t seem to tear himself away from Hanzo’s lips, face, neck, long enough to undo them properly. So Hanzo does it for him, pushes his pants down his hips. He’s barely hard, despite the desire that pools deep and Genji aims to fix that with eager, practised pulls off his hand. His brother’s palm is sweaty but even so the rubbing has a painful edge.

Hanzo jerks his hips into the touch anyway, finally reaches up to wrap his arms around his brother’s back, digs his fingers into his clothing until he knows he’s marking the skin beneath. Genji keens low in his throat and Hanzo echoes the sound. 

“Hanzo, Hanzo, Hanzo.” Genji can’t seem to say anything else, just repeats his brother’s name like a mantra, peppering kisses anywhere and everywhere he can. “Hanzo.”

In response, Hanzo shoves Genji back with one palm against his shoulder, wants to laugh at the startled and pained expression the action brings to his brother’s face, and turns onto his stomach. His cock slips free from Genji’s grip as he turns. It ends up pressed against his belly and the tatami floor. It throbs and he allows himself to rut down, create one iota of friction. Not enough to satisfy any need.

He looks back over his shoulder, at where his brother sits awkwardly, his mouth parted and lips red. Their eyes meet. Genji’s gaze is intense. It burns Hanzo up from the inside. He turns his face away, no longer wants to match that stare and instead arches his back, presents himself, lets his brother know what he wants with his actions rather than words.

“Are you sure?” Genji asks even as he is already moving, spreading Hanzo’s cheeks and dipping a thumb just past the rim. His spit is warm. It helps him push a bit deeper.

Hanzo says nothing. He doesn’t need to.

On the second finger, Genji’s nail catches slightly and Hanzo flinches but pushes back anyway, insistent. He can hear Genji undoing his own clothing, the swish of cloth, the chink of the belt and then slightest groan when he is finally free. A trembling hand pushes Hanzo’s shirt up his back, bunching the expensive fabric. The hand trails back down his lower back, caressing.

They aren’t prepared. Hanzo is not prepared. This will hurt. He doesn’t care.

 

Not even a liberal amount of spit makes it any easier to sink his cock into his brother’s ass but he does it anyway, pressing deeper and deeper, feeling each clench and twinge of what must be pain. Hanzo’s shoulders are quivering as he braces himself on his elbows, head dipped and his hair, now only partly bound, falling down to cover the sides of his face.

Genji wishes he could see him, wishes they’d taken the time to take their clothes off so he could mark soft skin and run his fingers across hard muscles. But the primal lust that has taken control of his limbs isn’t interested in any of that. It wants Hanzo _now_. It wants to fuck and Genji is keen to oblige. 

When he can’t press any further, he drapes himself over his brother’s back so that he can seek out the back of his neck and nose the moist skin. Hanzo is shaking.

Genji pulls his hips back and _thrusts_.

It pulls a shout from Hanzo’s lips, quickly smothered by a forearm. Genji does it again. His cocks drags each time, throwing off his rhythm but he keeps at it, rutting like a wild animal in heat, chasing his release. 

 

Hanzo tries to spread his legs further to make it easier but his pants are caught around his thighs. Genji is inside him and he feels the burn all the way up his spine. He bites down on his arm until the skin breaks and the sharp taste of blood spills upon his tongue. His forehead is pressed against the floor and even his neck hurts with every thrust that jostles his body.

He can feel his cock throbbing untouched between his thighs, bobbing along in time. He doesn’t reach for it.

The pleasure and pain become interchangeable, where one ends the other begins. Hanzo relishes every second of it, memorizes the feeling, each grunt from Genji, the sound of skin against skin, the burn the fills him up, sets him on fire. It almost feels like he is being purified in it, cleansed of his fears and doubts. This can only makes him stronger.

Genji’s hips stutter as he comes quickly, a throaty moan ripped from his deep in his chest. Hanzo feels the pulsating of the dick inside him and he clenches hard around it, shifting his hips to milk every last drop of warmth. His brother becomes a dead weight along his back, his release clearly robbing him of all remaining strength. 

They stay that way for a long time, laboured breaths and soft whines, the rustle of fabric as Genji keeps shifting his hips, his softening clock sliding easier now with the help of his cum. Hanzo feels the loss of it when Genji finally pulls free. 

He remains exactly where he is afterwards, shivering violently, unable to move.

Every limb feels locked in place and it takes Genji’s cajoling touch to turn him over onto his back. Even then he doesn’t relax, not until Genji’s head sinks between his legs and coaxes his orgasm out of him with his mouth. It’s the soft hum that does it, the gentle tongue pressing against the base.

Genji swallows and sits back.

Hanzo stretches out his legs and groans low in his throat. Exhaustion makes itself at home, a tired band across his brow, the remnant of too many tears shed. He feels sweaty and disgusting beneath his clothes.

There is an ache inside of him. Hanzo reaches down between his legs, sinks his fingers into his ass and captures the cum there, brings it up and splays his hand, as one might look at a wedding ring. There are dots of red. Pretty rubies.

Genji is watching him and Hanzo realises his brother is the one crying now, tears marking tracks down his cheeks. He sighs and beckons, leaves white marks on Genji’s black suit when he pulls him down to his chest. They lie down together, in front of the casket holding their dead father, mourning not him but the future he has laid out for them. Bound and trapped.


End file.
